Somewhere Only We Know
by JoanyChan
Summary: "They say that the spirits of organ donors return to guide those they save." When Toushiro is haunted by memories of his transplanted heart, will he be guided to remember his past? Or will he discover the reason why he tried to forget in the first place?
1. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

The air feels heavy. Breathing becomes harder and harder. With eyes barely open, he can see pills on the ground, bathing in red.

Is that his blood?

Looking down, he sees fresh slashes dripping blood onto the white bathroom tile. They replace old scars that horizontally climb up both his forearms. The sight of them—flesh smothered in dirtied red—was dizzying and everything starts to blur into a murky darkness. Despite the pain, they give a sense of relief.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knows. But the images of his memories flashing before him tell him that he deserve this.

This is the only way.

The pills—how many did he take?—begin to take their toll. He feels his lips curl upwards slightly through drugged paralysis. The pain, the pain…

He takes the last effort to clutch his chest.

There are footsteps approaching. Was that just his mother's scream? But she is too late:

He is free.

This is what he deserves.

* * *

><p>The uniform hospital environment is disrupted by a flickering section of ceiling lights. There is a buzzing and humming and faint beeping of machines coming from various rooms down an empty hallway. The sign above the emergency room at the end of this hallway glares red, carrying a sense of anxiety.<p>

The red light shuts off.

The large doors crack open and a female doctor walks out. A couple rushes towards her, and after an exchange of murmurs, the spouses hold each other and sob in relief.

The doctor strolls down the hall with a clipboard. Before she reaches the vending machine, a young intern calls out to her.

"Unohana-sensei! Unohana-sensei!"

She presses a few buttons for coffee and turns. Giving a tired smile, she replies, "Hanatarou-kun."

"How did it go? Is the boy okay?"

Taking the can out of the machine, she takes a sip before answering. "Yes. The medication the patient overdosed on led us to try a heart transplant. It worked surprisingly well. Hitsugaya Toushiro will be fine in a few weeks."

"A heart transplant…then the donor…" The intern slowly makes sense of this information.

"Passed away a year ago after two years in coma." The doctor affirms his thoughts.

"B-But Sensei…" He is about to say something but allows his voice to trail off.

The doctor notices that something is bothering him. "Go on, Hanatarou-kun. What is it?"

"I'm sorry, but wouldn't a waste? I mean, he did try to commit suicide…" He blurts and then flinches afterwards, expecting chastisement.

Instead, the woman sighs and smiles gently as she rests on a bench. "I understand. But people do change. Maybe this surgery will change him."

Her student-worker looks at her curiously, "What do you mean?"

She looks upwards at the ceiling, taking a sip from her coffee. "They say that spirits return to their donated organs to guide those who received them."

He chuckles nervously, "You mean like ghosts? It's just a superstition though, you don't really believe, right Sensei?"

She smiles.

* * *

><p>A young girl sits on top of her gravestone, swinging her legs gaily. The other spirits are gathered across the cemetery to see off a soul who has completed. But they were too chatty and she did not feel like interacting with the other spirits.<p>

She looks down a small puddle beneath her. The reflection shows her a blue sky with the bright sun shining overhead. If she squints hard enough, some days she can see a pale, translucent figure in the water. But today —like most days—isn't one of them.

A group of teenagers in school uniforms walk by down the block, heading towards the crosswalk a few feet away. They pass by as if they do not notice the commotion going among the gravestones. But she knows that they can't: they cannot see her or any of her other neighbors in the cemetery. That's okay though, because then she can watch them without having a weird face given to her.

Her favorite time of the day is the evening, especially during the weekdays because she gets to see the high school students go home after a days worth of studying. She likes to imagine herself in each of the groups that walk by, complaining about school work and joking about what-happened-yesterday-in-class. Her favorite students to watch are the senior high school students; that's because if she was still alive, she'd be that age.

Other than watching people come and go, there is nothing else to do. As she came to learn during her first days here, she cannot leave this place unless it has something to do with "finding peace"—as the other spirits called it. She has tried to climb over those black-iron gates, but always finds some kind of force holding her back from the lively world outside.

Some days she wonders how she will find her peace. She has asked more experienced spirits how she will know what her peace is, but the only replies were that she will know when the time is right.

Other days, she is not curious at all. She does not want to complete and go into that light, even if she gets a festive goodbye party. On those days, she is frightened to leave this world because it is the only place she knows.

A silver car stops a few feet away, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. She usually doesn't care much for cars, but there is a face behind the windows that catches her attention. Something—almost like a gentle breeze of revelation—rushes through her.

_Go. Go. _Her companions behind her egg her on.

She walks over to the gate, straddles one leg over it. And then the other.

She was on the other side.

A smile appears on her lips.

* * *

><p>Inside a silver car, a young man sits in the backseat, silently observes passing buildings and landmarks. He looks past his faint reflection—showing a set of blue-green eyes and silvery hair framing a naturally pale face—in the window. After stopping for a traffic light by a cemetery, his driver asks:<p>

"So, Toushiro-kun—still remember this place?"

"Yeah, sort of_._" He lies.

In truth, he can't remember a single thing before the surgery. He can't even remember the car accident that got him in the emergency room. All he knows is that it must have been extremely fatal, for he had to get a heart transplant and his mother spent a whole day crying in relief by his bedside when he opened his eyes. Even after he was strong enough to leave the hospital and spent the next month home, his mother had this worry in her expression—as if she could lose him any minute.

He doesn't understand why his parents sent him here to study for the upcoming school year. His parents told him that it would do him good to revisit the town he spent his entire childhood in. They said he would be happier there and that they just want the best for him. Why they believed he would be happier there he doesn't know—he feels no different.

And he still can't remember anything at all.

They pass by a dense growth of tall pine trees. Squinting carefully, he notices that the plant life surrounds a lake along with a thin dirt path leading into the mini-forest. His breath stops short and this chill passes by him. He hears a little boy's screams.

But there is no one there.

He tells himself that he is being over-imaginative and ignores sudden coldness that just enveloped his body because it didn't make sense—it was over a hundred degrees outside.

His breath returns to normal once they drive a distance away from the lake. But he finds himself looking back and wondering.

"Toushiro-kun, we're here." The car stops.

He gets out and looks at the house—moderate in size with a small stone path leading to the front door.

This place truly is foreign to him.

"Welcome home."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I really shouldn't be trying to start a new fanfiction at this point in the summer, but I can't help myself. This plot line just formulated in my mind and I just HAD to get it out! Ah…now I'm going to want to finish it…**

**But please review! I'd love to think how you guys think about this!**


	2. Might As Well be a Stranger

**Might as Well be a Stranger**

"Are you sure you don't need anything? Anything you forgot?"

"No. I'm fine."

"And…that medication?"

"I brought it with me. Are you ever going to tell me what it's for, 'Kaa-san?"

"It's…it's just medication to get you accustomed to the transplanted organ…that's all…"

"…Fine. Look, I'm kinda tired, I'll call tomorrow, okay?"

"Oh. Of course…"

"…Bye 'Kaa-san…"

"Oh wait!"

"What?"

"Toushiro…I-I love you, okay? Take care."

"Yeah. Okay. Bye."

He hangs up and places the phone back on the table. Sighing, he looks around in his new "home". The sunset sky through the window gives the furniture and the polished-wood floor a kind of orange glow. There is a television set in the room he identifies as the kitchen. A bathroom beyond the kitchen. A hallway with two rooms. He guesses that these are bedrooms—one of them was where his parents slept and the other was where he slept. After all, according to his parents, he used to live here for fifteen years.

He decides to test himself. If he chooses the right room, then he does have a chance of remembering. If he doesn't, well then…

It's a silly thing to do, but he takes it seriously. He bites his lip, a sign of his frustration. Standing there, trying to make a decision, he basks in deep thought for over five minutes.

A sudden breeze—warm, gentle, and sweet—passes by him. It feels as if it beckons him to the room on his right. For some reason, he does not hesitate to follow it. He is about to reach for the doorknob when the door swings slightly ajar itself.

Taking a breath, he pushes the door and walks in.

* * *

><p>She knew that expression on his face and it was almost funny how he really hadn't changed a bit. Biting his lip with his forehead slightly scrunched in seriousness; did he not know which room to go to?<p>

So she led the way. Now the two of them were in his room, and this giddiness overtakes her. She dances and spins herself around the bed, laughing in silent joy. The spirits told her that her only goal in the outside world is to find her peace, but right now she doesn't care about her peace. She just wants to enjoy this moment of reunion. Eventually, she stops and turns back at her old friend, who is lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She skips over and tilts over to stare at his face. His expression makes no change into recognition and he stares right through her.

This is okay. At least she can stare at him as long as she likes—so she can take in the three years of change.

The eyes that remind her of the clear ocean. The hair that reminds her of snow. There's no doubt. This is him.

But there are some things different about him. The most striking difference his height—he is much taller. She thinks about it for a second and decides that it's a good thing—they used to compete on how tall they were and she always beat him. But now he wins.

His scrawny, little-boy look is gone. His thin arms were now a bit more muscular. His chest was broader. His shoulders wider. His face was a bit more angular too…

His eyes are closed now and heat creeps up her face. Instinctively, her hand goes to her cheeks. It's weird…she can't feel a thing on her fingers, but she feels warmer than usual. Passing it for happiness, she lies next to him and places her head on her chest.

All she can focus on is the warmth. The wonderful beating…

She thanked fate that it was him that she was able to save.

* * *

><p><em>Cold. So cold.<em>

_He wants to scream, but he can't. His legs are too weak to keep up. Why can't he swim? _

_The icy water is like needles on his body. It's entering his mouth, weighing him down. _

_Air. He needs air. _

_It's no use. He's drowning. Falling into darkness. Alone._

_Where is he?_

* * *

><p>He sits up, gasping for air, touching his chest, making sure that he is still alive. The solidity of his body reassured him—he was definitely not a ghost. But he still felt cold, as if he was frozen and couldn't thaw.<p>

What was that just now?

The nightmare didn't make sense. From experience over the month he spent at home, he knew was a perfectly fine swimmer and he enjoyed cold weather. The body he was in…it felt foreign.

Subconsciously, his hand went to his heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Short-ish chapter, I know. I thought about joining this with the third chapter, but then that'd be way too long. I think this part stands better as a chapter alone. The chapters will get longer as the fic goes on.**

**As always, please review or comment!**


	3. Is this Remembering?

**Is this Remembering? **

_He's waiting. Even though it's so cold that it burns. _

_Swim. Swim. _

_He can't feel the water anymore. It feels like needles._

_He is so useless. All he can do is wait for him. That is all he can ever do._

_He wants to prove them wrong. That he can be someone strong, just like him. _

_But he can't._

_All he can do is fall and fall and fall…_

* * *

><p>He's alive. He's alive. He sits up and breathes, chest heaving.<p>

It's the same nightmare.

He's been having it every night. Sometimes even twice because he finds himself trapped in it after hours of trying to convince himself to sleep.

As always—ever since he has come here—he mocks himself for it. It is just a child's nightmare. He is eighteen. Too old to be frightened.

Yet he is anyway.

He looks at his alarm clock. Usually, he wouldn't have to worry about time. His mother kept him at home after he returned from the hospital. But today is when he tries to return to the normal clockwork of high school life.

After running through usual routines, he heads for the high school. But as he walks to the sidewalk, he remembers that Jushiro did not give him directions.

"_It'll come to you." _

He told him that reassuringly before. But he doubted it. He can't even remember Jushiro—the fact that he is an old friend of the family comes from his parents.

But suddenly, he feels a tug on his school uniform—maybe a breeze. Something beckoning him to follow. He is usually the type of person to handle situations with exact rationality, but this time is different. Something—it feels like even someone—is leading him and he follows. Whatever or whoever it is, he trusts it to such a degree that he cannot understand himself.

As he walks, he feels distant memories coming to him. He remembers the café he used to eat sweets in while watching people walk by outside. He remembers that swing in the park he liked to sit on and look up at the sky while kicking his legs underneath him.

He stops and finds himself in front of a large complex. Other people around his age, wearing the same uniform walk by him, towards the front door. Taking a breath, he walks into the crowd.

Girls gossiping at lockers, athletic jocks talking about last night's game…the noise and commotion is almost dizzying. He finds his way to the teacher's office.

"Oh, Hitsugaya Toushiro-kun…right?"

He nods at the female teacher who just called his name.

"Follow me."

The crowds are starting to disperse, with the exception of a few groups with the mentality of ditching class. The teacher stops at the room 3-A and slides the door open. Once she walks in, all the senior students scramble to their respective seats.

"Alright, alright. Settle down. We have a new student. Most of you probably know him from a few years ago. He's come back to join us." She looks over at the door, "You can come in now."

He walks in to find his new classmate's faces staring at him.

Before he can introduce himself, the student in the back with long red hair tied back in a ponytail stands up and excitedly yells:

"Toushiro!"

* * *

><p><em>His stomach twists and turns. Staring at all these new faces makes him nervous. And being in the front of the classroom was even harder. He wonders why new students are always forced to introduce themselves like this.<em>

_But he when he looks around after returning to his seat, he tries to find a hopeful—a friend. Maybe someone else who is as curious as he is about the rest of them. _

_Oh, there's one. And two. Two pairs of eyes._

_But he can only bring himself to smile shyly back. At least, he thinks he's smiling back. His whole body feels so stiff and fluttery that he can't tell. Yet even though meeting new people scares him, he really wants a friend. Someone to know who he really is past all that scaredy-cat everyone passes him for._

_At last it's lunch time. _

_He looks for the girl that seemed friendly from before, but it looks like she has already forgotten about him and gone on to share her lunch with the friend she already has. Everybody else is going outside to play and he wants to join them. But how?_

_He's no good at soccer. Or tag. Or hide and go seek._

_After wandering and waiting for someone to invite him, he gives up and sits alone on the swings to watch them. Maybe kinds of things just have to wait. _

_Now it's two months later._

_And he is still on the swings during lunch, watching. Sometimes he helps the boys get their ball and helps the girls swing the ropes for jumping. But they never ask him to participate because there are always too many people. And he doesn't want to get in the way of anyone's fun. So he never asks to join either._

_He has noticed that fights and arguments always start because someone took too long on the slide or didn't play the game right. He doesn't want to take the chance of doing that. He doesn't want anyone to be angry at him._

_So he still watches._

_During these times, he likes to close his eyes and pretend he is friends with everyone. In these daydreams, he can call everyone by their names—just as friends would—and everyone would know his. Except in real life—right now—he has yet to hear anyone call his name. Sometimes they smile and say "thanks" when he helps them with reading the picture books, gives them all of his lunch when they forget theirs, or hands them his toy if someone else stole theirs._

_But then they forget and run forward with their lives while he waits._

_Now his first year in his new school is almost over._

_He is still dreaming._

* * *

><p>"Abarai-kun, sit down!" The teacher commands.<p>

Ah. So this is Renji-kun. She remembers him. And as she looks around at the rest of the class, she can recognize all the faces (except for the ones that moved here after she died). Looking at them, all so much grown-up…she is almost really excited.

She tilts forward a bit to sneak a look at her friend's face. It seems blank, almost a bit confused. It is the same look he had when he had tried deciding which room was his…and when he walked out of the door this morning, trying to decide which way to go. Good thing she helped him both times. She thought she understood then. Maybe three years away from home is a lot.

But now she really understands; he doesn't remember. This is Shiro…but this Shiro has lost a piece of himself—the old Shiro-chan.

She smiles.

The other spirits were right when they told her knowing how to find one's peace comes naturally.

* * *

><p>The ring of the bell blares over the intercom, interrupting Toushiro's thoughts. With this, he is almost glad to be relieved of the images that kept flashing through his mind, distracting him from the lecture. But before he could make sense of what they all meant, he heard his name.<p>

"Oi! Toushiro!"

He feels an arm over his shoulder and looks to his left to find a red-headed student—the same one who shouted his name when he walked in. A sudden flash before his eyes revealed a loud, elementary school boy with the same red hair. He can recall him from some foreign memory.

"Abarai…Renji."

"Well, nice to see you too, Hitsugaya Toushiro. Why didn't you turn around and say hi to me before?"

Were they friends?

"Toushiro, unlike you, Renji, has actually matured and cares for his education." Another student—a blonde young man—appears by Renji.

Another image impedes his vision, displaying a somewhat-timid, blonde-haired boy.

"Izuru Kira." He hears himself say.

"See? I told you Kira, all those rumors about him losing his mind were bullshit. He still remembers his childhood friends!" Renji nudges Kira roughly.

He looks at them and replies blatantly, "Well it's true, I am suffering from amnesia."

"Yeah Kira, he's just suffering from amee-nee—wait what's that?" Renji obnoxiously asks.

Kira sighs. "It's a condition of memory loss."

Renji continues. "Whatever. I guess that accident really banged you up. But that's cool. We've got your back. No matter how screwed up your head got."

Somehow, Toushiro does not feel reassured from this promise.

"Well, your amnesia can't be that bad." Kira speaks for his flippant companion as he notes, "You seem to remember our names."

He is right. The subconscious whisper inside him did allow him to correctly call them by name. At realizing this, his eyes widen.

His memories.

They were coming back.

* * *

><p>She sits at the desk in his bedroom, facing the window filled with the night sky. The light inside the house is almost yellowish compared to the darkness outside. Unlike the cemetery—which usually had many people passing by in the evening—there is no one outside to watch or observe here. She gets bored easily and decides to read the literature assignment on his desk.<p>

It's the book she had always wanted to read, but waited because she had heard that she would be able to read it in high school. Only, at the time, she didn't know that she wouldn't have that chance to even go to high school.

She shrugs happily. At least she can read it now.

Looking over her shoulder, she can see Shiro sitting at his bed, talking on the phone. She closes her eyes. Ever since she became like this, she can hear incredibly well. Right now, she can hear a woman's voice on the other end of the phone line.

"How was your day?"

"Fine, 'Kaa-san."

"Did…did any of your friends remember you? Do you…"

"I remember some of them. Like Abarai and Kira."

"Good. I'm glad."

Silence.

"'Kaa-san…did we ever live somewhere else before we lived here?"

"No. No. Toushiro, you were born in that town. We never moved until you turned fifteen."

"Okay. Thanks 'Kaa-san."

"Toushiro, why are you asking this?"

"Nothing. I must have gotten confused."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter is a bit longer, as I promised it would be :)**

**Thanks for reading! Any comments are extremely appreciated!**


	4. These are not mine

**These are not mine**

_He likes it here in the library, filled with all different kinds of worlds—worlds away from the place he lives in—on pages. All his other classmates hate library time (which is always on a Monday), but he likes it. While the other kids head towards the picture books, he likes reading the books with all words on them—he can see pictures in his head. _

_When it's lunch time, he likes to hide here now. There's a window near where he sits on the floor—that way he can watch his classmates play too. _

_There are other kids that like the library too. These kids are much older than him—probably sixth graders—and they don't read. Instead, they sneak around behind a bookshelf, dragging younger kids with them. _

_They are like the pirates in the books he reads, kidnapping civilians and kicking them until they give them something they like—maybe a yoyo or just plain tears. He doesn't like them, but he doesn't say anything either. He doesn't want to get them in trouble or hurt anyone in any way by talking to a teacher._

_One time, they saw him peeking through a hole in the bookshelf. _

"_This one's been watching us the whole time."_

"_What a little sneak."_

_They rip the pages of the book he was reading and tug on his hair until it hurts. He thinks the hot watery stuff in his eyes is his tears. Closing his eyes, he imagines that he is somewhere else—maybe in a kingdom with kind queens and kings and knights to keep all the evil away. _

"_Don't you dare tell __**anyone**__."_

"_Yeah, or we'll come back."_

_When he opens them again, they are gone and he is lying on the ground._

_Classes started and nobody realizes that he is still alone in the library. _

_He is used to this._

_Gingerly picking up the pieces of shredded paper, he collects the ruined pages of the book in his hand. For the rest of the day he tapes the pieces together. It isn't his fault that the book is all ruined, but he has to fix it. If he didn't, then someone will ask what happened to it, and then those older kids will get in trouble._

_That wouldn't be fair to those kids. He's sure that they are actually nice people. Just like in the books, people all have someone mean and someone nice inside him. _

_So he won't tell anyone. He'll stay quiet and just watch._

* * *

><p>"Ah, the library. My hell." Renji moans, putting his head on the wooden table burdened with stacks of books.<p>

"It's just a book report, just choose two books we've read in the curriculum and compare to the book we're reading now." Kira replies unsympathetically as he reads.

"But I haven't actually read _any _books since…kindergarten." Renji peeks up at Toushiro, who is flipping through the list of titles and their respective authors. Renji smirks, "Toushiro too. Right, man?"

"I've read almost all of them."

"What?" He ignores their stares.

Renji's gawk turns into a mischievous smile, "Oh…I see. You've _read _all of them. Not that you didn't use an online source or anything…"

"No, really." He looks at them, "I mean, I read a lot when I was younger."

Kira stifles a laugh and Renji snorts, "Okay Toushiro, joke's over. It's okay, we can handle this report in misery together."

"No, this isn't a joke." He insists, "The translated works of Mark Twain, Edgar Allen Poe, William Golding…I've read them."

He has. He remembers each one of them clearly and used to pretend being each character every book. He can remember that now.

"Come on Toushiro, we know you've never been much of a reader." Kira says.

"But I used to read all the time in the library during lunch when we were younger…" He is confused.

"Um, no. You played soccer with us during lunch." Renji states and looks at him weirdly. "Are you okay?"

He notices that he has his hand on his forehead with a frown set on his face. He smoothes it out, concealing his confusion with what he hopes is a joking grin.

"I can't believe you guys fell for that."

* * *

><p>He tried to put his uncertainty behind him in order to familiarize himself with his old friends. Tried smiling at Renji's excessive complaints. Tried laughing about the first year who walked into the girl's bathroom today. Tried reminiscing about their "middle school years" he didn't remember.<p>

Maybe pretending would help him recover the person he used to be.

But it doesn't, and by the time he leaves the library, he finds himself unable to remember anything about the boy he used to be. Watching the two walk ahead of him, he feels like an intruder—some sort of imposter that's stealing the name and the life of a boy named Toushiro.

He looks up at the orange sky and wonders when he will be able to be himself again.

"Yo, Toushiro! Come on!" Renji calls over her shoulder, "I told some guys we'd hang out at seven."

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he actually wants to overwhelm himself by meeting so many new people or—even worse—frustrate himself by not being able to remember any of them.

But Toushiro would go.

So he pastes on a grin, "Yeah." He quickens his stride to join them.

He follows them to a recreational park. From afar, it seemed to be a huge lot of grass. Coming closer, he could see white lines painted on green. A soccer field.

"Home sweet home, eh Toushiro?"

So Toushiro played soccer.

"Hey! This is place is for players on the team only!" A lean, muscular black haired student in a jersey calls out from the goal post. His most distinguishing trait is the tattoo of the number 69 on one side of his face.

"Stop acting conceited, Hisagi! You know who we are!" Kira calls back.

"You won't be able to be such a bossy ass once you see who we've brought with us!" Renji smirks.

Hisagi…Hisagi Shuuhei. He remembers him—he was one of the taller boys. Bossy. Got into some fights during recess when they other boys played soccer. But he wasn't the most stubborn kid.

There was someone else.

* * *

><p><em>Today the sky is gray—as if the clouds are warning everyone that it's going to rain soon and everyone should go inside. But he is the only one that heeds this warning. Nobody else listens to the sky.<em>

_Lately, he has been watching the boys play soccer. There are a few girls, but only a few because most of them are too fragile to handle the rough-play. He finds it all interesting; for those 30 minutes they play, they are mean to the people on the other team even if they are playing the same game. _

_Some of them are really good and fast like the ninjas he reads about in books. _

_Now one of them is yelling at the other. One of the boys pushes the other down. The sensei is going over to chastise the over-competitive boy, but he doesn't seem to care because his friends cheer him on from behind. But suddenly, a sulky expression falls on his face as the teacher points to the building. _

_Soon enough, the library door opens and it's the same boy._

_They are in the same class and he knows a lot about him. He's the one that's always surround by a bunch of other kids—the loud ones. Whenever he gets into fights—which was often—he was always backed up by others. He can be nice though, even though his appearance could remind anyone of winter._

_Spiky, messy silver hair. Blue-green eyes. Really short yet loud with a characteristic frown on his face._

"_What are you looking at?" He roughly asks._

"_Hi, Hitsugaya Toushiro-kun."_

* * *

><p>"Yo, Toushiro—watch out!"<p>

Renji's urgent voice calls him back as finds himself staring at a blur of white and black that gets closer and closer to his face. The leap in his heart screams at him to duck and he almost closes his eyes. Yet against his instinctive thoughts, his body is able to remain calm. Swiftly, he heads the ball and juggles it with his knees, bringing the ball gracefully to the ground.

He stares at the ball, too occupied with his revelation to pay attention to the excited words of the soccer team approaching him.

"It's him alright!"

"Welcome back, Hitsugaya!"

"Look's like you've just lost your captain's seat, Hisagi!"

He doesn't respond. In fact, he can't see anything but the boy from the flashback.

_Spiky, messy silver hair. Blue-green eyes. The frown that wasn't quite angry. Short yet loud. _

Toushiro. He saw him as another person—someone outside of his body. Someone that wasn't him.

He was never Toushiro in the flashbacks.

These memories belong to someone else.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Happy Labor Day! I would've uploaded this sooner but I was without electricity for nearly a week. This may be the last upload for a while :(... **


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